


Help Out the Boss

by xxx_Young_Blood_xxx



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, and ignore the title as well thats stupid too, overuse of expletives, pete wentz is dumb, this is actually pretty stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4166487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxx_Young_Blood_xxx/pseuds/xxx_Young_Blood_xxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick is blown away, lips parted and eyebrows raised, staring at a piece of toilet paper on the ground. His expression quickly turns sour, eyes lidding and mouth tightening in annoyance. </p>
<p>"Dude."</p>
<p>* involves arachnophobia and Pete being a little bitch :) *</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Out the Boss

Pete calls Patrick in a state of pure panic and seemingly overwhelming terror.

"Dude, what's wrong?" Patrick asks in a harsh whisper over the whimpers and half sentences, because fuck he's at work and he's also in the bathroom, and okay yeah it's really hard to maneuver around with only one free hand. "This really isn't the best time. Are you hurt?"

Pete lets out a wet and heavy groan, making Patrick perk up. "Fuck, are you seriously hurt? I'm at work, but I'll be there as soon as I can, I swear--"

"There's a fucking  _spider_ , Patrick! It's in our room, and it's fucking-- it crawled across my  _foot_ and I threw up a little in my mouth--"

Patrick is blown away, lips parted and eyebrows raised, staring at a piece of toilet paper on the ground. His expression quickly turns sour, eyes lidding and mouth tightening in annoyance.

"Dude."

"It's  _big_ babe, please, I'm actually gonna throw up again."

"God. Pete..." Patrick sighs, "I'm at work."

"We live five minutes away!"

"Throw up on the spider."

"Screw you! You know I'm scared of them! Fucking assholes..."

"I'm sorry babe, but spiders are apart of life. We can't have a genocide of all of them."

"No, but you can kill as many as you  _can_ \--!" His voice wavers shrilly and he cuts himself off with a yelp and an over-exaggerated gag. Patrick hears a smack, then some faint stomping and a pause.

"Please come home," Pete asks, voice breaking in the first word and Patrick rolls his eyes.

"Did you kill it? I heard something."

"I threw a shoe at it and then I ran away."

" _Pete_ , you are thirty six years old. You're almost  _forty_. Don't be a pussy."

"I'm not being a pussy! Patrick!"

Patrick moans and stomps his foot on the tile in frustration, hanging his head and shaking it. He's silent for a good minute, save for a few shuffles and the sound of a zipper, remembering who could cover for him.

"Patrick?" A small, rough, helpless voice asks curiously.

"Pete," he says simply as he walks over to the sinks, phone between his ear and shoulder.

"Please?" Pete questions. Well, more like wheezes.

Patrick closes his eyes and after a brief civil war in his head, he clenches his jaw and lets out a curt "fine".

He can practically feel the hug and simultaneous kiss he knows Pete wants to give him. His boyfriend doesn't make a sound though, probably just grinning large enough to split his face in two, like always. "I--"

"Let me finish. I'll be there in ten minutes. Fifteen at the most--" Pete whines. "Okay, shut the fuck up, I'm  _coming_. Just watch the damn thing, make sure it doesn't escape. And Pete?"

"Yeah?" He replies softly.

"Try not to be such a fucking bitch," he jokes, and he knows Pete knows it, but he protests anyway.

"Phobias don't affect a certain gender, dickhead!"

"Ugh."

"I love you, Trickster. Now please get home and kill the motherfucker."

Patrick sighs and hangs up. He rolls his eyes but regardless smiles dotingly, shaking his head once more. Once he finishes washing his hands he goes out to scout for a trustworthy coworker. Patrick works at a music company (a CEO, with recording being his specificity), so about everyone here is either chill as fuck or has a giant stick up their ass. He soon finds Ryan, a skinny dude that dresses like he was a kid that once picked his nose and got made fun of for it all through high school, a nerdy and hey-let's-go-to-open-mic-night sort of fashion sense, but turned out pretty okay emotional wise. He falls into the gray area depending on his mood and if Brendon was around, but everyone he actually likes is out on lunch right now.

"Hey Ry?" The other swivels around in his seat and bites both lips at Patrick, a passive aggressive expression he knew well.

"Yeah? What is it? I'm kinda busy here," he says quickly, and Patrick figures he either drank a fuck ton of coffee or was extremely stressed about the new artist they were thinking of signing. The guy was a little rugged but his voice was like fucking heaven. Pearl Jam turned one man band. He was good, amazing, and every recording company in Chicago was scrambling to get their greasy fingers on him, including theirs. Pete-- although in reality absent of oily appendages --owned Decaydance Records, and Patrick was his right hand man. It was a cute story how they got together really, the cheesy as hell " _oh we kissed at the office Christmas party because everyone was pressuring us to since we were under the mistletoe_ " excuse, but they were also both fucking smashed and attractive, so that probably had something to do with it too. Patrick likes to go with the innocent first reason, but Pete enjoys exaggerating with the latter, says how Patrick pulled him underneath the little plant and pinned him against the wall and-- yeah, he never got much further than that. Patrick always blushed around that part, which amused the other enough to stop.

"I need you to cover for me, lunch break's ending and Pete needs me."

"Why?" Patrick sighs and looks at his watch. Half past Please Ryan Oh My God Don't Ask Questions.

"Personal issue." Ryan raises a brow. Patrick rolls his eyes and mumbles, "He's sick. That's why he's at home." And he was. But Pete's always been a really lively guy, so even the stomach flu couldn't stop him from screaming into the phone to argue about a spider.

"Fine. You owe me donuts."

"One."

" _Four_." Fuck, where would the dude  _put_ it all?

"Two."

"Four."

"Two." Patrick crosses his arms.

" _Alright_. Fuck you," he spits but with not any real venom, he was too wound. And that's why Patrick always conducts negotiations.

"Thanks, Ry!" He exclaims hurriedly and runs to the elevator, and while he's in it he hums along to the predictable, soft, unknown music. Patrick walks to his car that was conveniently parked right outside the building, right next to where Pete's would be. The engine turns when he puts in the keys and he drives out of the area and down the busy road, and pulls into the driveway of their condo. Patrick parks and unlocks the front door, hearing some immediate shuffling.

"Trick?" A slightly stuffy voice asks, but it still sounded alert.

"Yeah, babe. Coming," he calls, exasperated, and he hears a sniffle. Patrick makes it up the stairs quickly, and Pete was sitting in a guest bedroom with a blanket wrapped around him, red, puffy nose evident. It'd be a cute sight if Patrick weren't so annoyed.

"Were you crying?" Patrick asks as he steps into the room, kissing Pete's temple and getting a lip full of greasy, mussed hair before he sits down next to him on the bed. He didn't really mind. Pete rolls his eyes and scoffs, as if that wasn't something he did. But Pete whines and angry-cries a _lot_. When they argue and it turns into a screaming match, Pete was usually the one to break first.

"Fuck you." Patrick raises up both hands in surrender, then Pete lays his head on Patrick's shoulder. "...Yes," he answers truthfully, "but only for a little, initially. Only when it crawled on--  _don't laugh_!" He screeches with a tiny chuckle, shoving his boyfriend away and pulling the blanket tighter around himself defensively. Patrick grins and laughs again, taking off one of his dress shoes and getting into a stalking stance.

"Where is it? I told you to keep an eye on it."

"Fuck-- I think it's by the chair." Pete mumbles, shadowing Patrick as he moved. Patrick groans.

"I gave you one thing to do, Pete."

"I'm sorry!" Pete yells shrilly, making Patrick chuckle lightly through his nose. He continues to look, Pete soon enough migrating back to the bed and sitting cross legged on the unmade piece of furniture.

"...Y'know, you're the one who called me over. You should be helping," he mutters to the other who was occasionally chittering under the blanket.

"I'm sick. I can prove it-- you wanna see what's in the bucket over there?" He points to the red bucket by the door, and Patrick takes that color as a sign to stop or not to approach it. Patrick rolls his eyes and crawls on the floor, looking under everything. A while later, when Patrick had ruled out that the spider wasn't in the room, Pete yowled.

"What?! I swear I just--! Wh--?" Pete furrows his slightly unkempt brows and looks down, seeing a rather large black creature on his ankle.

"Fu--  _Pat_ \--" Was all he could shakily manage to get out before Patrick jumps on the bed and smacks it with the shoe and before Pete passes out. Pete whines, only grossed out because of the mess, and partly fine now that he knew that the arachnid was deceased. He sticks his stinging leg out straight, as if he wanted Patrick to see what he'd done.

Right now Patrick was cackling, curled into Pete's bare, clammy side and cheeks aching from smiling so big.

"Shit, I'm gonna throw up, oh my god--" Pete rambles, staring at the brown murky guts and lone ligaments spread across his shin and feeling his stomach churn. This made Patrick laugh more, and he kisses Pete's jaw adoringly. He gets up and straightens his suit, staring at the sight before him. He grins. "Get this  _off_ , Trick," he pleads, and Patrick sighs heavily.

"You're so dramatic," he says with a chuckle. "Go get in the shower, you need one anyway." Pete sighs and reaches over, snaking an arm around Patrick's hips and pulling him back down onto the bed.

"Take it with me," he rasps, coughing once and clearing his throat. He attempts to sneak his hand underneath Patrick's shirt and thumb at his hip, but the other laughs and shoos the appendage away.

"No, Pete. You're sick. And I'm already dressed. If you're not at the building, then I have to be."

"Please?" Pete props himself up on his elbows, unknowingly displaying his taut although slightly discolored, pale torso (courtesy of the flu). Patrick swallows thickly but regardless, he stands up again. Pete squeezes his ass on the way up and he squeaks, then rolls his eyes. Patrick slaps his hand and Pete laughs.

"Go take a shower, you stink."

"Wash me," Pete says lowly, and Patrick figures he was trying to be sexy but it honestly just sounded really stupid.

"You're so lame. G-- agh!"

Pete tugs him back down by his hand and to avoid injury to himself, Patrick rolls habitually. Pete pulls him onto his hips smoothly and leans up, nibbling at his neck, and Patrick sighs. "Stop. You're gonna make me wanna stay," he mumbles, nudging Pete away slightly with his head.

"Kinda the point," Pete murmurs against the skin that he's attached himself to once more. Patrick briefly moans with his his mouth closed, lazy and stubborn, and Pete reaches up to thumb at his boyfriend's lower lip, to try to get him to part them. Patrick takes the digit into his mouth and bites down on it, and Pete yelps, ripping his face and hand away.

"What the hell?"

"I have to get back," Patrick breathes, rather amused, still feeling the tingle of the other's mouth on him. He swallows again, noticing how Pete's staring at him. And then he's suddenly on his back, with Pete's slightly wincing expression above him. He was sick. He probably couldn't even have sex if he tried. Patrick sighs in content and smiles, shaking his head and sliding out from underneath the other. He pulls Pete into the bathroom and strips him down, careful of the drying spider insides on his ankle.

"I'll wait until you're done, just in case."

"You might as well get in with me then."

Patrick chuckles. "You're a big boy. You got it," he assures, and kisses Pete's forehead admiringly. Pete steps under the steady stream of cold and Patrick reaches into the cabinet to get out two aspirin and a pair of Tums, placing them on the counter with a glass of water. He waits on the bed, texting Ryan that he would be back soon.

When the water stops and a handful of moments goes by, Pete emerges from the bathroom, looking much better. Patrick looks past him and takes note that the meds were gone, and at least he didn't have to seriously persuade him to take them like he did with Pete's prescription for his disorder. He's gotten better with it since they moved in together, because he's aware Patrick would know if he didn't swallow the many daily pills.

"Get all the spider off?" Patrick asks, grinning in a teasing manner.

"Shut up," Pete retorts with a smile that beats Patrick's by far, squeezing the towel that was around his waist. He pauses for a moment, his smile faltering and his eyes lidding for a millisecond.

"You know, I always thought you looked fucking hot in suits. They show off your ass." Patrick chuckles, very flattered but Pete always complimented him like that.

"Is that why when you first hired me you always seemed to trail behind me when we walked together? And why you always made us take the stairs?"

"Is the sky blue?"

Patrick laughs and looks out the window, the sun beginning to set. "It's more of an orange-ish color, but..."

Pete sneers playfully. "Don't be a smart-ass."

Patrick shrugs with a smug smile on his lips. He glances out the window and down the street, recognizing their company building. He nibbles his lip absentmindedly, and then he hears a small groan. Patrick turns his head. "What?"

"You're so fucking dense," Pete says lowly before he attacks Patrick's mouth with his own-- how did he get so close that quick? --and pushes them back onto the bed. Patrick laughs into it because he understands now, Pete's stupid obsession with his mouth, but then he quickly pushes him off, realizing. Pete looks like Patrick had instead punched him in the face.

"Wh-? Did I do something? Is it because I ate the rest of the Cheerios this morn--?" Patrick cuts him off with an eye roll, paired with flushed cheeks.

"I'm gonna get sick now, Pete." Pete contemplates this for a moment.

"Might as well get sicker then," he grins and leans down again, connecting their mouths once more. Patrick struggles against it for a few moments, but however, soon enough he melts into it. Pete tastes like dusty, dry lemons from the Tums, but regardless Patrick wraps his arms around his neck and lets out a tiny, needy, whimper-like sound. Pete channels the noise into his own mouth and then tugs Patrick's lip towards himself, licking into his mouth after. Patrick shudders and swallows when he was given the chance to a few moments later.

"Pete," he states softly, not sure if he meant it in a warning or if it was a wanting call for him. Pete responds by nipping the tip of Patrick's nose which causes him to huff out a small laugh, and then he shifts, Pete's lips now biting and sucking spots into Patrick's neck and oh god-- " _Pete_ ," he says again and rolls his hips upwards to meet his boyfriend's, and okay yeah that time it was definitely a needy sound. He curses under his breath as Pete holds down his wrists gently, giving him an option to pull away at any moment, but like hell he would.

"You gonna stay? You can call Gee, tell him Mr. Wentz is too sick and you gotta take care of 'im..." he breathes softly, mouth slack. He bites his lip abstractedly as he awaits the other's answer and it makes Patrick's dick twitch sudden and amazing in his slacks so he nods, red lips parted. He quickly swallows though and gains his voice and sarcasm back from the depths of himself.

"I bet you get off on being called Mr. Wentz you freak," he smirks softly and laughs as Pete mumbles a ' _well_...' then chuckles alongside him, with a matching too-big grin. He places a kiss to the center of Patrick's throat, which causes the smaller man to swallow habitually. Pete nips the same spot and feels the vibrations of Patrick's groan tickle his lips.

"Wouldn't mind being called 'sir' once in a while--" Patrick rolls his eyes, "--a little office roleplay at the actual office..." he grins against the soft skin, hands unbuttoning the other's pants and untucking his shirt.

"You  _would_ like that," Patrick laughs and kisses Pete deeply, wiggling his hips to help Pete get his pants off.

"So you staying?" Pete asked as he hooked his fingers into the waist of his boyfriend's suit pants. Patrick groans internally and then sighs softly.

"Fine. Whatever. You owe me."

"Office roleplay it is, then."

Patrick sputters for a moment. "Ah-- I-- who the hell said I wanted  _that_?"

Pete gives him a knowing look and smirks from his place above Patrick's crotch. "You know you want  _this_ , 'Trick," he says with a grin as he pumps his hips down onto the bed once slow and expertly.

Patrick fake-grimaces. "Do I though?"

"Yes. Very much."

They both laugh.

"Fuck you," he grins, and Pete kisses him again, all tongue and chalky lemons.

"Works for me."

**Author's Note:**

> not sure if i plan to write a sequel to this or not..  
> kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
